


The Lord of the Rings - An Unsung Tale - Part 2

by PaulH57313



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-10
Updated: 2013-02-10
Packaged: 2017-11-28 19:19:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/677987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaulH57313/pseuds/PaulH57313
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Continuing on from their retreat, Marcel, Haldir and Glorfindel ride away from the presence of Minas Morgul, but whilst being hunted by the Nazgul. Unsure who survived the battle for Minas Morgul, Marcel's guilt is great. but they decide it best to investigate a sudden incident In the realm of Mirkwood. For Dol Guldur, the old fortress of the Witch-King has been showing signs that someone has been inhabiting it once more...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lord of the Rings - An Unsung Tale - Part 2

An Unsung Tale - Part 2…  
Chapter 1  
Haldir swiftly reached across his back for his elven bow, the speed of the horse he rode making his reach awkward and uncomfortable. Marcel lay slanted on the front of his horse, gripping its fair mane with all his might, for he knew this quarrel that they had gotten themselves into wasn’t going to end well. Glorfindel, who strode on his white steed to Marcel’s right, raced a little ahead of them, leading their horse in the right direction in which to travel. A Nazgul on his fell-beast had broken off from the battle for Minas Morgul and now hounded the elven party as if they held something of great importance, which they did. The Mouth of Sauron wasn’t letting his forceful grip on Marcel go unanswered and so sent one of the nine Nazgul to hunt him. The fell-beast picked up speed as it swiftly cut through the air like a knife, silently as it did. It was gaining on them. Haldir, who now held his bow firmly in his hands, looked toward Marcel and handed him the reigns, even though Marcel held no strength of his own, but just enough to hold on. Glorfindel turned his head around to witness the Nazgul on Haldir’s tail, and screamed in its direction. As soon as he caught sight of it, Haldir hastily took an arrow from the quiver that was strapped to the horse’s side and placed it in his bow.  
“Shoot! Now!” Exclaimed Glorfindel, halting his horse as he spoke. Haldir listened intently and threw his self toward the Nazgul’s direction and fired. Unfortunately, the arrow sieved under the fell-beasts right wing, and landed somewhere within the plains of Southern Gondor. Haldir swore to himself quietly before attempting to place one more arrow into his bow. But the Nazgul had caught wind of their attack and led his beast for a swift dive. Landing successfully beside Haldir and his steed, the tale of the beast smashing into the side of their horse, making it whine in pain and tossing Haldir and Marcel off of their steed and crashing toward the ground, Haldir just managing to stop his roll, whilst Marcel, still too weak, rolling a little farther from the scene. He let out a cry as his arms begun to pulse, making them sear with sharp and unbearable pain. Glorfindel gazed at Marcel, before returning his gaze toward Haldir and quickly aiding him to his feet.  
The two elven warriors now faced the fell-beast and its rider, with the dark mountains of Mordor as its background, whilst the stretch of the Misty Mountains was theirs. Both warriors now thought themselves fortunate, as they stood a chance now that the beast was not airborne. They removed their swords from their belts and poised ready for attack. The fell-beast let out a growl aimed toward the elves, and then backed off, revealing that its rider now stood in its place, his Morgul blade in its metal hands. The Nazgul begun eerily staring at the elves, wondering whether to make the first move, or let them. Glorfindel stood forward.  
“Back off, fiend, go back to the shadow from whence you climbed out of.” He barked toward the Nazgul. It raised its head, its cloak hiding its gaze from the thoughts of men. It begun to speak, its voice echoing strangely throughout the area that they were in.  
“Hand over the man, and no harm will come to your kin…as of yet…”  
“You will not come near him! What is your quarrel with this man?” Glorfindel harshly replied.  
“My master wants to send a message, that anyone who dare enter his realm, will pay with their lives, as his men did, as they now lie dead at our doorstep…”  
Both parties stood silent for a moment, for both Glorfindel and Haldir weren’t entirely sure what had occurred within the dark halls of Minas Morgul. They turned their gaze toward Marcel, who still lay in pain on the ground. The fell-beast once again, growled, its tone an unnerving one. Attention once again returned toward the Nazgul, as it plunged its blade into the dirt and raised its claw-like hands to the sky. What progresses next however, the elves did not intend. As the servant of the east begun chanting in its black speech, the skies darkened, which was clearly not the weather of the world. Glorfindel and Haldir raised their eyes to the skies and watched as the last light from it dissipated into nothing. The Nazgul was emitting some form of dark sorcery to the sky, a power in which neither elf could contend with. The battlefield begun to get very quiet, very fast. Their vision began to fade as a sudden mist appeared around where they stood, only the eyes of the fell-beast could be seen, its wretched glare, intimidating any who dare come close to it. The elven party now faced total darkness.  
Marcel however, saw nothing. He could see the Nazgul with its arms raised suspiciously and the elven warriors frozen with fear. But as he forcefully crawled along the floor to help those that had helped him not far back, the black rider was already mounted on its beast and risen high in the evening sky. Although the beast and its rider did not ride east, it rode north east, in the direction of Mirkwood. Unaware of their destination, Marcel returned to the moment at hand. Glorfindel and Haldir’s sight quickly returned to them as the rider flew farther from their location until the skies above them begun to shine once more, both with a look of wonder on their faces, and worry.  
Chapter 2  
Glorfindel and Haldir both firmly agreed that it best they change their route for it was clearly being watched by the dark presences of Middle-Earth. They had to find some way of healing Marcel of his grave wounds, for another day in the wilds would kill him. As no help would come from the men of Gondor, the elves turned to their own borders, their own kin. Haldir’s realm, Lothlorien, was by far their closest bet at receiving aid, but it lay too close to the forests of Mirkwood, and to the dangerous ruins of Dol Guldur. Realising that their best hope was to sail down the Argonath and down the river Anduin, and attempt to enter the once great dwarven kingdom of Moria, pass through unseen and then walk north, to Rivendell. But the elves both scarcely held hope that Marcel would survive such a journey, for if not, then this path was useless.  
Marcel had managed to regain most of his former strength in his legs and now walked unaided by his elven companions, yet they still kept a watchful eye. There was little conversation between the three, only short, sharp looks. Marcel could clearly see they wanted answers, and was more than willing to talk, just as long as he didn’t get made out as the enemy. Night fall arrived over their encampment just north of Cair Andros. They had planned to move at first light to avoid any interruptions and planned to travel as fast as they could possibly go.  
Haldir had started up a small fire after a few effortless tries and beckoned his elven kin beside him. Marcel strolled up and kneeled across from them. They swiftly met eye contact, which then returned toward the fire. Glorfindel, who had been desperate to ask Marcel something, finally spoke.  
“So, care to explain what a man was doing in the dark realm of Minas Morgul?” He spoke, Haldir too listening intently on Marcel’s reply.  
“I wasn’t alone. I was far from it.” He grasped his right arm as he recalled battle and the thoughts that followed.  
“I was sent by Lord Orondar, from the well hidden lands of Andrast, with a party of three-thousand of our finest and most loyal soldiers…and we sailed. We sailed for days before reaching the shores of Gondor. Our reason you may ask? Minas Morgul! We were so close I tell you, so close, but the darkness within that place yet remains…”  
A sudden silence fell over the camp as the elves tried to take in what they had just heard. It was clear to them that this attack the men of the west had planned, failed, and with dreadful losses.  
“Tell us more of this Andrast? Where it be held?” Haldir spoke.  
“Well, we are a quiet folk, nor do we bother the outside world, but we too harness the thought of once day being free from Sauron’s grasp.” Marcel replied, tightening his fist as he spoke of his enemy.  
All of a sudden, Haldir rose to his feet, jolting the vision of both Glorfindel and Marcel to look immediately upward.  
“Do you not know what troubles you have yet meddled in!? You are a hunted man now due to the repercussions of your foolish actions!” Haldir barked toward Marcel, who now sat quiet, unable to process what he had just heard.  
“Enough, Haldir of Lorien. There is but no reason to start quarrelling over the actions of the past. No we must focus on our future, the next few days in particular.” Replied Glorfindel to Haldir’s verbal attack on Marcel. Haldir now slowly fell back to his knees and hung his head in silence.  
“I’m sorry for what I have caused, what the men of Andrast have caused, but our need is great, for it saddens me to say, but our Lord grows ill.” Marcel stated, with grief in his subtle voice.  
Glorfindel thought to himself for a short moment, before realising who this Lord Orondar actually was.  
“Wait, Orondar Nordinair? One of the Dunedain of the north, blessed with long life? Is this of whom u speak of?” Glorfindel questioned.  
Surprised at what he spoke of, Marcel nodded.  
Haldir turned toward Glorfindel.  
“How do you know of their leader, have you previously met him before?” Haldir questioned, him too surprised at his knowledge of such a thing. But he nodded in response to a no.  
“I have not, but Aragorn, son of Arathorn, who too is blessed with such a gift, has. I’ve conversed with Aragorn little more than two days from my departure from Rivendell. He may yet still linger there if we return soon.”  
Marcel had heard of this Aragorn that the elves spoke of, but were merely rumours. Such rumours that even were as notorious as to say that he were the heir to the throne of Gondor, the heir of Isildur himself! Since this were the direction in which they headed, it may be useful for him to converse with Aragorn too. The elves looked at one another, spoke something in their own language, and left the site of their campfire and into a small tent that was set up, whether it would have space for all three of them was yet to be seen. Marcel, still in some pain, chose not to follow, for he wanted to think for himself for a while.  
The moon was incredibly large on this particular night, a scene Marcel had not witnessed for an age. But under the alluring sight of the moon, lay the black mountains of Mordor, lit with the harsh red and yellow ambiance that Mount Doom gave off. He quickly turned his gaze away from it. It was rather peaceful somehow, especially after what Marcel had just been through. But for all its calmness, the thoughts of Arith and Lecres still lay on his mind, and would do so until he found out what happened to them, at least Lecres anyway, for he had witnessed what happened to Arith unfortunately.  
He took in a deep breath before suddenly catching a glimpse of a sudden movement to the east. Not caring whether it was a threat, or just some natural noise, he kicked dirt into the fire, taking out its light and then slid down, hiding behind the fires remains. Scuffled footsteps could now be heard from the direction the noise had come from, followed by a coughing and spluttering of someone. It was clear that this was a person, but even so, Marcel still lay hidden. The person now staggered his way up to the sight in which he seemed to have been following, for some time apparently. Marcel saw that this man had an arrow plunged deep into his shoulder, but the man seamlessly now seeming to care, as his attention was focused on something else. But something was familiar about this man, his bearings where of a man of the west. As Marcel steadily rose to his feet, he finally realised that this man was none other than his long lost friend Lecres, who was in terrible pain, his wounds, seemed more tremendous than his own.  
“Lecres? You’re alive?!” Marcel shouted.  
Lecres begun to nod slightly before falling to his knees. By this time both Glorfindel and Haldir had awoken and now rushed toward the sight of the two men. Haldir held his sword close by him, for this man could have been a threat. But Marcel beckoned him to lower his weapon. Marcel attempted to comfort his friend, but his efforts seemed futile. His heart pounded in his chest for seeing his friend gave him such a rush. Glorfindel came for a closer look, with a look of sadness in his face.  
“I’m sorry, Marcel, he isn’t going to last the night.” He stated remorsefully.  
“Please! There must be something you can do?” Marcel replied, his eyes, beginning to swell up with the tears he had not shed yet. Haldir placed his hands over his mouth, for the sight of someone dying terrified him.  
Lecres now sat up slightly, in an attempt to talk.  
“I’ve been following…you for around two days I think…I’m not entirely sure…” He murmured in pain.  
But the stress of the night was not over, for another figure had appeared from the east. The Mouth of Sauron had appeared on his black steed, accompanied by a small pack of orcs. Glorfindel sharply rose to the party’s defence, blade in hand and now aimed toward the east. He thought to himself that Lecres could have been set loose in an attempt to follow them, and if so, it had worked. The orcs slowly begun to surround the camp. Haldir had now gotten closer to Marcel, and defended his side.  
“Ah, my plan worked perfectly, and I see he is still alive! Good, good. It will make me killing him that little sweeter!” The rider spoke, his familiar voice and tone sending shivers down Marcel’s spine.  
He slowly begun riding toward him, Glorfindel swinging his elven blade and making the rider’s horse leap. The rider now drew out his blade and thrust forward, just passing Glorfindel’s side. Glorfindel turned to the rest of the party.  
“Go! Run, I’ll hold them off!” His words of courage making Marcel rise to his feet too.  
“No! I will not leave you!” He spoke; sharp pains rose up his arms as he tensed up.  
But as all hope seemed to be lost, a noise had reached them, coming from far north across the Misty Mountains. It seemed to be nothing at first, but as the party affixed their gaze upon the noise’s location, shadows of flying beasts had emerged.  
“N…Nazgul!” Marcel fearfully shouted.  
But somehow, the Mouth of Sauron begun the steadily retreat, his horse begun to whir away, and the orcs scattered as if they had not ever seen such beasts. But as the shadows of the north gained a closer distance, both Glorfindel and Haldir realised, these where no beasts from the darkness of Mordor, but a much friendlier type of beast.  
Three great eagles had flown from their home in Thangorodrim, a mighty peak of the Iron Mountains to help the elves. The first of the eagles swiftly skimmed past the campsite and snatching a few orcs within its claws, tossing them far into the distance. The second, dove toward the Mouth of Sauron, but his horse begun riding as hard as it could, back to the east, and back to Minas Morgul. Whilst the third hovered a while over the camp, making sure they were safe. As soon as things settled and felt like they were safe once again, the eagles stood over the party. Both Marcel and Lecres stunned at what they were staring at, but they were grateful none the less.  
Gwaihir, the first eagle that they had laid eyes upon, bowed towards the elves, who had bowed in return. Glorfindel raised an arm to him at stroked his feathers as to say thank you. But something then happened that Marcel had not thought possible, the eagle begun to talk.  
“That was an extremely lucky escape, if I do say so myself!” Gwaihir spoke, almost sounding human-like.  
“We thank you for you aid, eagle, but how did you know we were in need of it?” Glorfindel questioned.  
“Radagast.” The eagle replied.  
The elves had heard of the brown wizard Radagast, but remembered he had been located in Mirkwood to the north. Haldir moved toward Gwaihir.  
“The wizard isn’t in Mirkwood…is he?” Haldir spoke, already knowing the answer to his question.  
“I’m afraid not, for evil has driven him from his home there, a foul evil, which I am surprised you haven’t heard of?” Gwaihir stated.  
Glorfindel looked toward Haldir in surprise. Haldir now rushed toward the camp to collect his belongings. Something was on his mind.  
“I must warn my people of this threat!” He exclaimed, tossing on his armour and sheathing his blade.  
But Marcel fell back to his knees, as he could feel the life leave his friend.  
“But what of us? What of Lecres, he is dying?” He spoke, alerting the eagles to their presence. Glorfindel nodded toward the three eagles and they immediately few up into a hover.  
Glorfindel moved toward Marcel and placed his hand upon his shoulder.  
“You both are going to be fine; I shall meet you both back in Rivendell.” Glorfindel spoke, before moving a few steps backwards.  
All of a sudden, Marcel felt a pressure around his waist, before becoming dragged away from his current position and upward. He then witnessed Gwaihir taking a hold of Lecres and his too becoming airborne. Marcel knew that they were now safe, and were now being taken to safety. As the wind hit his face, he let out a sigh, and felt his eyes darken, and did not fight it.

Chapter 3  
“This fight should not have come to our lands, Glorfindel; this is for the domain of men.”  
“But this is part of something much larger, can you feel in your heard Elrond that this man of the west was to come here, that his road now leads east?”  
“I cannot tell what my heart feels, but my people have done the best we can with these two, it is now up to them what journey they decide to take.”  
Marcel’s eyes opened to see two elves having some sort of deep discussion, although one was Glorfindel and the other was a stranger to him. He leaned up on where he lay; some softness that he was unsure of was in his way. He realised he lay on some sort of bed, the décor around him making him remember his journey in the grasps of Gwaihir. He was in some elven domain. Glorfindel caught sight of Marcel’s awakening and swiftly walked to his side.  
“Rest, Marcel, you’ve been thought a lot. Your journey to Rivendell by eagle was a rough one, for both you and your friend.” He spoke.  
“But, who did you get here so fast? You left with Haldir did you not?” Marcel questioned. Glorfindel looked toward Elrond, their eyes clearly hiding something.  
Elrond placed his hands upon the end of the bed which Marcel lay upon.  
“Welcome to Rivendell, I am Elrond Halfelven. You, and your friend, are safe.” His words sent a wave of clarity to wash over Marcel. The elves were truly a race of marvel and wonder.  
“Where is Lecres? Gwaihir, Haldir?” Marcel said, worried in case something awful had occurred during his sleep.  
“Relax Marcel, Lecres has fully recovered, Gwaihir is here too, and Haldir is with his people in Lorien. You need not worry friend.” Glorfindel replied.  
“But, what happened? What about the evil that drove the wizard from his home, the evil that was coming to Lorien?” Marcel suddenly begun to feel anxious about everything, for he could not sit idly by as bad things were happening around him.  
Once again, Glorfindel and Elrond’s eyes met, yet no words were spoken. It was definitely clear now that they knew something that they were keeping from Marcel. All of a sudden, a third character appeared and stood against the large doorway. Lecres stood there, on his own feet and without aid. He had surely recovered to the best of his ability. Elrond and Glorfindel backed out of the room they were in to give the men privacy. Lecres strolled up to Marcel and sat at the end of the bed.  
“I’m am truly sorry, Lecres, for abandoning you and the men.” Marcel turned his head away in shame.  
“Do not worry yourself with such a thing; it was great to see that you’re still alive! Even if it is only us two…” Lecres’ words drove off into an awkward silence.  
“…Only us two survived?” Marcel spoke. Lecres nodded in return.  
“Elrond has informed me of Lothlorien’s current problem, and I volunteered myself to investigate.” His words made Marcel sit up once more.  
“You did what? But shouldn’t we return to Andrast? To our king?” Marcel questioned.  
But his word where met with a dreaded look of sadness.  
“King Orondar, he has passed, I just caught word. It’s horrible I know, but he left word to his people, that in his loss, you where to act as leader, as king!”  
Marcel, studded at what words Lecres had just uttered, now felt a sudden responsibility to his people, to Lecres, and to his old friend Arith. Glorfindel once again appeared seamlessly out of nowhere.  
“It’s good to see you too up and moving again. But I must ask for your attention, I must ask for your help.” Glorfindel spoke.  
Lecres had now stood to the elves presence and Marcel had gotten from the bed to his feet too, both nodded and listened to what Glorfindel had to say. Feeling like he owed the elven race a tremendous debt, Marcel was more than ready to lay his life down for them, even though his responsibilities now lay elsewhere.  
“Haldir has asked for our assistance, for you remember that fell-beast and his rider that attacked our party nearing its beginning? Well I’ve been informed that the Nazgul was none other than the Witch-King of Angmar, Sauron’s deadliest weapon of the third age. He has once again returned to Dol Guldur, after me and my kin drove him from it some time back.”  
Marcel thought himself lucky they were not murdered at that very moment as no one has ever defeated such an evil being. He also saw that Glorfindel had a look of regret on his face, almost seeming like he wish he had vanquished the Witch-King on his first encounter. But Marcel suddenly thought of something that wasn’t right.  
“Wait, how do you know of such a thing if Haldir isn’t here?” He questioned.  
Elrond at that moment walked in and disturbed their conversation.  
“He has gone missing, and has been for some few days. Whether he may yet be alive is to be seen.” Elrond exclaimed.  
“Then we must save him, right?” Lecres replied, looking toward Marcel as he spoke.  
“That’s what I was wishing you two would help me with.” Glorfindel spoke, smiling at the two men who seemed so desperate to help.  
“Yes, we both agree to help, but is it a lost cause or not?” Marcel said.  
“We’re not sure, but this journey will make us aware of Haldir’s location, and any evil that remains in Dol Guldur.” Elrond replied.  
And so as soon as everything was set, Marcel and Lecres, led by Glorfindel left Elrond’s presence and the presence of Rivendell to head toward Mirkwood, and to venture into Dol Guldur to find their missing friend. Fortunately, if the party crossed the Old Ford, that lay east of Rivendell, they could escape the eyes of Moria as well as avoid any other watchful eyes. They would travel light, with just a few provisions, for if in need, they could request aid within the realm of Lorien. 

Chapter 4  
Dol Guldur and all its potency was once thrown down by the Lady Galadriel a long time ago, but evil still chooses to remain in the old fortress’ ruins. Although not the original home to the Witch-King, which was Carn Dum, a realm far to the north, Dol Guldur once held such an uninvited guest known as the Necromancer. But by a chance, Gandalf the Grey, a very powerful and wise wizard of the Istari, soon found this being to be none other than the spirit of Sauron!  
Mirkwood lay east across the River Anduin. The Old Ford was merely a bridge of sorts that connected each side of the river together. Dol Guldur however lay at the southern parts of Mirkwood, and had been corrupting the forest area around it, ever since it was built. The company now stood at the west side of the bridge, for something blocked their path.  
“What is that?” Marcel stated, affixing his gaze upon a being that stood at the eastern side of the bridge. This person was of no threat however, but he was small in stature, and held a large axe which he seemed to bear with ease. Glorfindel slowly begun crossing the bridge, to try and intervene with the person. As the figure turned to face the group, it was now certain that they had encountered a dwarf. The small being stood for a moment whilst he too investigated the elf that had just come across the bridge.  
“Ye be no orc! Aye, yer of elven make right?” The dwarf murmured. Glorfindel’s eyes shortened as he attempted to understand what the dwarf was saying.  
“I am Glorfindel of Rivendell, and you may be?” He said, trying to figure out more of this dwarf.  
“I be Rhodar Blackwatch of Erebor, although who I am is irrelevant.” He stated, turning his vision to the two men that where in midst of crossing the bridge.  
“Why are you here Rhodar? What brings you so far from home?” Glorfindel spoke.  
“Urgh, it be a stressful time in our halls aye. The black rider has tried to commute with our king! Tried and failed I tell ye, tried and failed. So I be sent to investigate.” The dwarf moved slowly backwards and forwards.  
Glorfindel found it hard to listen into anything the dwarf said, as his vocabulary was all over the place. Marcel stood to his right and had a few questions of his own.  
“Hello dwarf, I’m Marcel, and this is Lecres. Please tell us, what do you know of this Dol Guldur?”  
“Eh, the ruins that lay in the south you mean? Well I can tell ye it be back to its evil ways. I dare not enter, hence why I am out here, and they in there!” Rhodar chuckled to himself.  
“We have no time for this, let us move on.” Glorfindel barked toward his companions. They hastily followed.  
“Be seein’ ye.” Rhodar shouted, before entering the west side of Mirkwood.  
Glorfindel dare not enter the woods until he reached the south, for he has heard of what danger lies inside, and whether these rumours where true, he dare not find out. But as the company reached the southern borders, Glorfindel stopped.  
“What’s wrong?” Marcel questioned.  
“I have a bad feeling about this, I don’t know what it is, but I feel as though we should turn back.” Glorfindel looked back toward the direction of Rivendell. Lecres stood forward.  
“Look, we have come this far, let us save Haldir and be rid of this place!” He spoke. Glorfindel nodded and the three entered the woodland realm of Mirkwood.  
The forest was unusually dark and reeked with the smell of dampness and death. This was such an unusual forest compared to others across the face of Middle-Earth. Its landscape was tainted with the will of Sauron and his followed, but the elves of Mirkwood had hope that one day the darkness would leave and life may yet return to this place. The three stayed close to each other, for they dare not lose their nerve so close to this place.  
“There it is, Dol Guldur!” Glorfindel pointed ahead of him as they stood on the boundaries of the fortress ruins across the bridge.  
Marcel caught sight of the fell-beast hovering above the ruins, yet unaware of their presence. Lecres drew in a breath and was the first to start crossing the bridge. The other two soon followed.  
“Why hasn’t any one of good intent ever held their home here?” Marcel questioned to Glorfindel.  
“I think this place is far beyond help, and is too tainted for it to be someone’s home.” He replied.  
Suddenly, Glorfindel hurried faster that the two men across the bridge, something clearly catching his attention. Haldir’s elven sword lay imbedded in the metal doorway of Dol Guldur.  
“Another trap you think?” Marcel suspiciously said, looking over the doorway. Both Glorfindel and Lecres nodded.  
But as Glorfindel’s hand grasped the sword’s handle, the blade vanished into black dust and a sudden screech was heard within Dol Guldur’s walls. Glorfindel drew his blade, as well as Marcel and Lecres.  
“He knows were here!” Hurry!” Glorfindel exclaimed toward the others.  
They all begun searching around the stone courtyard for signs of Haldir, but found nothing. Although something caught the sight of Glorfindel’s elven eyes, something that was eerie down one of the stone corridors, and so he left the company of the men to go investigate.  
“Wait, where’s Glorfindel?” Lecres questioned.  
They both begun shouting his name, but there was no reply. All of a sudden, a figure fell out of an intersection in one of the walls. It was Haldir. He seemed wounded, yet showed no physical sighs of trauma. Marcel held his elven friend up and awaited him to talk. He seemed desperately out of breath.  
“Where’s…where’s Glorfindel?” Haldir spoke with all haste, his intentions seemed focused.  
“We don’t know, he disappeared, I think, looking for you, why?” Marcel replied.  
Something definitely was wrong. Why would the Witch-king merely let the unarmed Haldir free without a fight? But Haldir bore news, something that studded both men. He took in short, sharp breaths before finally speaking.  
“It…it wasn’t me the Witch-King was after…”  
A sudden urge to drop Haldir came to Marcel as he now so desperately wanted to find Glorfindel, but held on a little longer, just enough time for Haldir to regain to his feet.  
Glorfindel now walked alone through these abandoned halls of Dol Guldur with his blade in his hands until he came to a large archway etched into the fortress’ walls. A large metal gate suddenly slammed shut behind him and he was now trapped. He saw no other way to escape as his eyes darted from corner to corner in the stone courtyard. But a familiar screeching reached his ears, and he suddenly fell cold. Turning to see a hooded figure wearing some form of ceremonial metal helmet stood aloft a stone pillar in front of him. Glorfindel now faced down his most feared enemy, the Witch-King of Angmar.  
“We meet again at last! Our little encounter on the plains of Gondor was nothing, merely a test, to see if I could lure you here…and it worked perfectly. Your elven pawn played his role perfectly, and now I have you here, alone!” The Witch-King spoke, his voice echoed throughout the courtyard.  
He then moved on to unsheathe his blade, and pointed it skyward. The blade then suddenly caught on fire, miraculously by itself, and was drawing in the air around it. Glorfindel unwillingly dropped his sword and now gasped for air. This foul sorcery was stopping the elves capability to breathe. He begun to choke and gasp. But the Witch-King had other plans; he was going to kill his enemy slowly, and more physically. He lowered his sword, the fire cutting out almost immediately and released Glorfindel from his sorcery. The elf fell to his knees, but he quickly too up his blade, and regained to his feet.  
“Back fiend! I’ve past this test once before, I shall do it again!” Glorfindel exclaimed, and charged toward the Witch-King.  
The Witch-King merely laughed as he suddenly rose above the ground, Glorfindel’s attack missing its target and smashing his sword into the wall in front of him. The Nazgul hovered for a moment, before lowering to the courtyard and putting his hand up, toward Glorfindel’s direction. Glorfindel placed up his guard, but was suddenly forced to the ground, and could not move. He struggled against the courtyard’s floor as an invisible force was holding his against it. The Nazgul once again laughing. But his “entertainment” was cut short as the elf before him begun chanting in elvish and his grip was released. Whilst he unwillingly released his grip, he felt a sudden feeling of awe. For none had stood and passed the Witch-King’s power. Stunned, the Witch-King raised his sword once more, and swung toward the elf. Glorfindel raised his sword and intercepted the swing of his sword. With every sword clash the Nazgul let out a screech as if anger drove each and every attack. This battle seemed evenly matched now that the Witch-King dare not cast magic in thinking the elf may use it against him. Fortunately, Haldir and the others had found their way toward Glorfindel and now stood at the gate, unable to break it down.  
“Glorfindel! Be careful!” Haldir shouted across the gate.  
The Witch-King heard the screams of the people that stood outside the area they were in, and shrieked.  
“You are outnumbered, spawn of Sauron!” Glorfindel chanted, smirking toward his attacker as he did.  
The Witch-King let out a screech and retracted his blade from battle. He looked skyward, drawing the attention of Glorfindel. The fell-beast had been called and was now staring at the sight below. It begun to ride downward toward its master and landed on a metal platform above its master. It let out a roar and waited its master’s command. Glorfindel raised his guard once more, but as he did, the gate now forcefully rose, and entered Haldir and the men. The four of them stood in the centre of the stone courtyard and realised that the fell-beast stood above the exit. They were all trapped now, for the Witch-King had tactically thought this through. He once again, rose above the ground and parched upon his beast.  
“It is futile; you all now belong to the will of the dark lord!” Spoke the Witch-King, rejoicing in his apparent victory.  
“It’s not over by a long shot!” Marcel shouted toward him.  
The Witch-King screeched again, making Marcel and Lecres scream and fall to their knees, the elves seeming unaffected.  
“Fools! I but await command of my master! If I had my way, you all would be under my blade, but he has a much larger plan for you four…” The Witch-King spoke, looking toward the east, to Mordor.  
But all of a sudden, as things seemed lost, the events quickly changed. As the fell-beast and its rider perched gracefully above the door, Rhodar, the dwarf, hastily ran through the corridor with his axe in hand, and let out a dwarven roar, before tossing his axe skyward, but not aimed at the fell-beast. His axe imbedded into a support that was holding the metal door intact. The Witch-King begun laughing away insanely…but was short-lived, for the dwarf had hit his target.  
The support that the axe had hit suddenly crumbled by the force it was hit, and the door collapsed, bringing the fell-beast and its rider crashing toward the courtyard. The five people, begun to cheer gracefully and watched as their enemy humiliated themselves as they struggled to gain to their feet. The fell-beast roared as it tossed the debris it had on it to the floor, the Witch-King let out a screech before mounting its beast. They both flew into a hover.  
“This is not over!” The Witch-King echoed, before him and his beast rode off into the east.  
“Thank you dwarf, we could not have asked for a better ending to this battle!” Thanked Glorfindel, bowing to his dwarven ally.  
“Aw ye’d be more than welcome! Took a lot of gut for me to step foot in here, but hey, it paid off!” Rhodar spoke, his ego slightly showing through.  
Marcel smiled toward the party that had assembled. For he did not expect to have survived such a travesty of Dol Guldur. Lecres turned toward his friend and gracefully bowed.  
“My king, please, tell me where I am needed.” He spoke, making Marcel laugh.  
Marcel was now remembering his duty to his people. But he would first hold a grand memorial to those who had perished in Minas Morgul, but also vowed to return there…  
Glorfindel was speaking to Haldir, what of Marcel hadn’t any idea. Rhodar suddenly looked skyward. Three familiar eagles came into sight above them. They landed on the walls of the courtyard.  
“Bit late aren’t me?” Lecres spoke.  
“We could not enter Dol Guldur whilst the evil still lingered here!” Gwaihir replied, shaking his right wing in an attempt to adjust his position.  
“I am eternally thankful, men of the west. For if not found I would be eternally lost in the darkness.” Haldir spoke toward Marcel and Lecres, who received his words and then bowed in return.  
“As we part ways, I hope we all meet again.” Glorfindel spoke to his companions and smirking toward the dwarf.  
“Aye let it be.” Rhodar replied.  
It seemed that amidst the travesty of the dark lord and all evil that lingers in each corner of Middle-Earth, the free peoples can find each other, and once bound; defeat any evil that enters their sight. For this company of men, elf and dwarf would be forever grateful to one another, and would one day, find themselves together again…

The End.


End file.
